The wind had calmed, stirring nothing more than the pale dust along the road.

  The carriage rattled softly through the grass, and Kael watched the scenery go by with the strange feeling that he had crossed into another world.

  The landscape was slowly changing.

  Wild grass gave way to neatly drawn fields, and thin rows of vines stretched across the slopes like lines of handwriting.

  Kael leaned forward for a better look.

  “What's that?” he asked, pointing at the dark red berries shimmering under the sunlight.

  “Grapes,” the driver replied. “The nobles love their wine. It’s the first thing they planted up here.”

  The air had changed too—softer, filled with sweet scents and fresh sap.

  Farther ahead, they passed two isolated farms surrounded by orchards. Silent farmers worked among the trees.

  Kael watched it all with curiosity—almost with respect.

  Apple trees, pear trees, apricot trees…

  Their branches drooped under the weight of ripe fruit, and the wind carried a heavy, golden fragrance all the way to him.

  “That’s unbelievable…” he breathed. “I’ve never seen anything so alive.”

  “Of course,” the driver said. “Here, the earth doesn’t beg. It gives.”

  Silence fell again.

  The road grew smoother, and a faint clatter echoed beneath the wheels.

  Kael glanced down.

  “Cobblestones?” he said, surprised.

  The driver nodded, still looking straight ahead.

  “That means we’re getting close. Lucénine isn’t far now.”

  A shiver ran down Kael’s spine.

  His hands tightened on the edge of the carriage.

  He shot upright, unable to sit still.

  “Seriously?! We’re that close?!”

  The coachman raised an amused eyebrow.

  “Calm down, Ombrevu. It’s not a spectacle, it’s a city.”

  But Kael was no longer listening.

  He scanned the surroundings, eyes bright, trying to catch the shape of a world he had only ever seen from afar, drowned in light.

  The air felt clearer. Fresher.

  His heart thudded hard in his chest; every bump of the carriage echoed like a drum.

  His fingers trembled slightly, and a strange warmth spread behind his temples.

  They climbed a hill.

  The wind picked up, carrying the scent of sun-warmed stone and sap.

  Then, suddenly, the view opened.

  At the edge of the plateau stood the palace of Lucénine.

  Kael froze.

  He had seen it a thousand times from the Broken Crown—tiny, swallowed in the glare—

  but never this clearly.

  Two twin towers, off-white and massive, rose up to meet the clouds.

  Between them, a stone bridge hung suspended in the light.

  From that bridge poured a pale, immense waterfall that fell straight into the city before flowing down into the valley: the source of the Soléen.

  The water gleamed with a milky sheen, tinged with gold in places.

  Kael followed its descent with his eyes, mesmerized, before realizing that this same water would go on to feed the Crown below.

  “Even the water flows from their walls…” Kael murmured.

  The driver nodded silently.

  Up close, the palace looked less radiant than he had imagined.

  Its white wasn’t pure, but worn—streaked with shadow and pale moss.

  It looked like a monument polished by time, older than the people living inside it.

  “So that’s Lucénine…”

  He let out a joyless laugh.

  “I thought it’d be more… alive.”

  The driver gave a faint smile.

  “Dreams age like everything else.”

  The path widened little by little, bordered by white stones worn down by wheels and years.

  Below them, the road wound its way to the first outer walls of Lucenine.

  And there, Kael fell silent for a moment.

  What he saw had nothing to do with the Crown.

  Dozens of carts waited in a neat, orderly line: sun-browned farmers, their hands still caked with soil, presented their goods to soldiers in pale armor.

  Baskets of fruit, sacks of wheat, sheep, milk still warm—everything seemed to flow through a perfectly oiled mechanism.

  Farther off, refugees in rags waited on their knees, a parchment clutched in trembling fingers, under the stern gaze of the guards.

  Beside them, nobles in light cloaks returned from travel, accompanied by servants, chests, and immaculate horses.

  And amid all this, soldiers marched in columns, steps synchronized, spears upright, faces unreadable.

  This wasn’t the unruly crowd of the Crown, with its shouts, its smells, its wild life.

  Here, everything seemed to breathe order and restraint.

  Kael watched the scene, lips parted.

  “It’s so… quiet,” he murmured.

  The driver smiled without taking his eyes off the road.

  “It’s the quiet of gears, Ombrevu.

  Every wheel knows where it turns, and no one wants to know what lies underneath.”

  Kael frowned, uneasy.

  “It looks like a beehive. Everyone moves, but no one really looks around.”

  “That’s the difference between the top and the bottom,” the coachman replied.

  “Down below, chaos creates life.

  Up here, order smothers it—slowly.”

  Kael looked away.

  A gust lifted the golden dust from the hooves, and in the backlit glow everything seemed frozen for a split second: people, animals, shadows.

  A perfect picture, without a single flaw.

  “It’s beautiful,” he admitted under his breath.

  “Yes,” the driver said.

  And then added:

  “But it doesn’t breathe.”

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  The rumble of the wheels faded as they neared the outer walls.

  A dense line of carts, travelers, and animals stretched all the way to the heavy silver gates, where the guard carried out methodical inspections.

  The ramparts—off-white stone streaked with dark veins—seemed to breathe light.

  At their peaks, motionless banners displayed the nine-branched sun of House Soléandre—a brilliant emblem of a dynasty that meant to last forever.

  A soldier on duty approached their carriage, his face hidden behind a polished helm that scattered the sunlight into cold halos.

  His plate armor, silvery and immaculate, seemed almost new—barely touched by battle.

  “By all the gods…” he muttered, casting a glance at the line of wagons.

  “Never seen such a mess. Farmers, refugees, merchants—and now carriages without a crest.”

  He fixed his gaze on the coachman.

  “Identify yourselves.”

  The coachman calmly held up a parchment sealed with a thread of silver.

  “Transport commissioned by the Trame Institute.”

  “And the cargo?”

  “Him,” the coachman replied, gesturing simply toward Kael.

  “He’s my charge. An Ombrevu Trame-bearer. He must be taken to the Institute for his Trial.”

  The soldier blinked, stunned.

  “An… Ombrevu Trame-bearer?”

  He straightened up, as though struck by an absurdity.

  “I’ve never heard of that. How can a creature of his rank be a Bearer?”

  The coachman didn’t flinch.

  “That’s none of my business. Orders come from above.

  If you want to contest it, take it up with your superiors.”

  The man froze for a moment, his eyes flicking from the coachman to Kael, then back to the seal.

  His expression tightened with barely hidden disdain.

  “Fine, fine…” he said, voice turning sharper.

  He turned to Kael, deliberately inspecting him from head to toe.

  “You. Ombrevu. Not one word, not one wrong move. No trouble, understood?”

  Kael stared back without answering.

  The soldier gave him a thin, contemptuous smirk.

  “Good.”

  He signaled to his men.

  “Priority access. Move them ahead of the others—let’s be done with this… anomaly.”

  The line of carts shifted aside under the lieutenant’s curt orders.

  The coachman flicked the reins gently, and the carriage rolled forward onto the white stones.

  Kael glanced backward through the small rear window.

  The soldier watched them go, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

  “Lovely welcome,” he muttered.

  The carriage moved on, jolting over the stone pavement.

  This time, Kael remained silent.

  He had understood that here, every word weighed far too much.

  He simply watched.

  Before the monumental gates, the world packed together like a human tide.

  Entire families—arms full of bundles, baskets, and children—had been waiting for hours.

  Kael spotted a woman kneeling, clutching a newborn wrapped in a torn blanket.

  Beside her, an old man pleaded with a guard in pale armor.

  “Please… let us through. We don’t want to disturb Lucénine’s peace. We only seek a roof and a bit of work.”

  The soldier, face twisted with disgust, pinched his nose with the back of his hand.

  “You stink like a pack of dogs. Move aside.”

  The old man tried to speak again, but the tip of a spear silenced him.

  The woman backed away, trembling, holding her child tight.

  Right next to them, the opposite scene unfolded.

  A polished carriage drawn by two magnificent horses had just stopped at the entrance.

  Inside, a round-bellied man in a richly embroidered coat murmured a few words to a guard.

  “Ah, sir, what an honor to see you back in Lucénine,” the soldier said with a bow.

  “Splendid, splendid,” the noble replied, waving a lazy hand.

  The gates opened at once, letting the carriage pass without the slightest inspection.

  Kael frowned, a dull anger rising in him.

  “These people could work here,” he muttered. “Feed the city, build its walls, tend its fields.”

  He nodded discreetly toward the refugees.

  “Instead they let in stomachs already full—stomachs that’ll only keep filling.”

  The coachman did not answer.

  He merely gave him a brief look, the kind that meant: Not here. Don’t say that here.

  Kael slumped back in his seat, jaw tight.

  Around him, the wind carried the scent of hay, leather, and sweat—the simple life of the people from below.

  But here, everything was regulated, monitored, ordered to the point of contempt.

  His gaze drifted along the line.

  And that’s when he saw him.

  A young man, alone on horseback, waiting a few meters from the gate.

  He wore plain clothes, with no embroidery or ornate insignia.

  And yet everything about him spoke of nobility:

  his straight posture, his calm composure, the quiet discipline of his movements.

  His smooth skin caught the light without shining, and his sharp, clean features emphasized the steady strength of his jaw.

  His eyes—an intense, piercing green—watched the scene with a silent solemnity.

  No disgust.

  No amusement.

  Kael met his gaze.

  For a heartbeat, time felt suspended.

  No arrogance, no superiority.

  Just… presence. Clear, steady, almost soothing.

  His horse—a chestnut with a gleaming coat—stood perfectly still, as if sharing the rider’s calm.

  Kael looked away first.

  He didn’t know why, but that gaze had unsettled him—not from fear, nor admiration.

  More like a strange sensation, as if that man saw the world… differently.

  The soldier who had stopped them gestured for the carriage to move forward.

  “Stay behind me,” he said sharply. “I’ll explain the situation.”

  He marched with a martial stride toward the great gate, where two other guards stood watch. Their white armor gleamed under the sun, polished to a nearly blinding shine.

  “Priority passage,” the lieutenant announced. “Institute convoy. The Ombrevu is a Trame-bearer.”

  The two guards exchanged uncertain looks.

  One stepped forward, peering at Kael through the carriage’s small window.

  “An Ombrevu? A bearer? You’re joking…”

  “You think I’d have the seal if this were a joke?” the lieutenant snapped.

  An awkward silence followed.

  At last, the two guards stepped aside, clearing the path.

  “Fine,” one said. “Let them through… but keep an eye on them.”

  The lieutenant nodded.

  “I’ll escort them to the Institute. As a precaution.”

  He rapped sharply on the carriage door.

  “You hear that, Ombrevu? Not a word. Not a glance. You follow along.”

  Kael nodded without answering.

  He felt his heartbeat quicken as the massive gates opened, grinding with iron and stone.

  The carriage rolled forward under the archway. The air changed instantly—cooler, clearer, carrying the scent of damp stone and polished metal.

  High along the walls, other soldiers watched them, impassive behind their visors.

  The Soléandre banners fluttered faintly in the wind.

  Kael caught the stares directed at him as they passed.

  Hard eyes, full of suspicion.

  Some showed thinly veiled disgust, others a cold curiosity—like they were studying a living anomaly.

  A young guard whispered something to his partner; the other stifled a laugh.

  Kael felt his throat tighten but remained silent.

  He already knew that here, the slightest word could be taken the wrong way.

  The coachman stayed quiet as well.

  Only the horse’s hooves and the faint clatter of the lieutenant’s armor accompanied their entry.

  When the carriage finally passed through the gate’s arch, Kael blinked.

  Lucénine’s light hit him like a flare.

  Before him stretched the city: streets paved in broken white stone, rows of fa?ades aligned with almost inhuman precision, hanging gardens trimmed like mosaics.

  Everything was silent, orderly—too perfect.

  The flickering torchlight, the distant ring of anvils, the clatter of hooves on stone, the vendors shouting their wares…

  All of it blended into a music he hadn’t heard in a long time.

  On either side of the avenue, military barracks lined up like teeth of stone. Soldiers marched in and out, their boots striking the ground in perfect rhythm.

  From the training pavilions came sharp, regular blows—almost musical.

  At the end of the avenue, a vast square opened up.

  In its center rose a fountain of off-white marble.

  Water flowed in clear sheets, casting golden reflections on the surrounding fa?ades.

  All around, markets moved in a flawless choreography: artisans selling jewelry, fabrics, spices, glistening fruit.

  The cries of merchants mingled with hoofbeats and the murmur of the fountain.

  Kael stared, speechless.

  He felt tiny, as if he were walking through a dream that functioned perfectly without him.

  “Hey,” the guard’s voice called suddenly.

  Kael turned.

  “Get back inside, Ombrevu.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. If someone spots you, we’ll have trouble.”

  The coachman tried to speak, but the guard cut him off:

  “It’s not a suggestion. We’re not drawing attention any longer.”

  Kael sighed, then reluctantly pulled back inside.

  The door slammed, dimming the light.

  Through the window, he kept watching the city—its colors, its faces, the precise movements of the crowd.

  Everything breathed control.

  A sigh escaped him again as he leaned back.

  Through the cloth divider, the coachman’s voice reached him—low and firm:

  “In the chest to your right. There’s the stabilizing veil. Put it on.”

  Kael lowered his gaze. Under the seat, a small chest of light wood still bore the seal of the Institute.

  He opened it: the veil lay inside, neatly folded.

  The fabric, ethereal, seemed almost alive.

  When he touched it, a soft vibration climbed up his fingers.

  Taking it out of the chest felt like lifting a sheet made of solidified water—light, translucent, pulsing with its own faint rhythm, as if it breathed.

  “It’s not just for show,” the coachman continued through the partition.

  “It stabilizes your Elan. And it’ll keep you from attracting attention.”

  Kael slowly draped the veil over his shoulders.

  The moment it touched his skin, the fabric tightened around him, molding itself to every movement.

  A diffuse heaviness settled at once in his arms and chest—

  a forced calm, almost artificial.

  He drew in a deep breath.

  The steady pulse of the fabric began to sync with his own,

  as if the stabilizing veil were adjusting its breath to the body it enveloped.

  Then he heard only the sounds:

  the rumble of the carriage wheels,

  the hooves,

  the coachman’s measured breathing,

  the metallic step of the guard.

  And the familiar noises of the market—

  the shouting, the hammers, the voices—

  slowly faded,

  blurring into a distant murmur.

  An odd silence settled in.

  Kael felt his breath grow heavier.

  A thin thread of anxiety crept up his spine.

  The thought of the Trial, of what awaited him at the Institute,

  began circling through his mind.

  Then, without him noticing, the carriage slowed.

  One last jolt, a wooden groan…

  and it stopped dead.

  Kael lifted his head.

  His heartbeat quickened.

  He knew they had arrived.